Portrait of an INFJ

No one knows what I am;
I don't.
I cannot stop thinking.
I don't trust.
I feel so much of the world;
if I could show you,
it would incinerate you.

I hopelessly ache
to receive the love I would give.
I hide away,
for no one understands:
the press of oceans and universes
threaten to burst from my skin.

I know what you're thinking,
what you're feeling,
while you judge me as I'm not.
I cannot stay,
I cannot run.

I will not die.

I am alone.